


When the crowds don't remember my name

by Lady_in_Red



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Ballroom Dancing, Canon Compliant, F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Resolved Sexual Tension, Smut, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-16 04:51:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10563990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_in_Red/pseuds/Lady_in_Red
Summary: The Padres begin their first season without Mike Lawson, while the retired catcher tries a different kind of competition on "Dancing with the Stars."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by retired Cubs catcher David Ross going on Dancing with the Stars this season, of course. I've only ever watched one episode, so forgive me any mistakes in the format of the show.

“I thought you said Lawson didn’t dance.” Ginny rubbed her eyes, not quite believing what she was seeing.

“He doesn’t.” Blip leaned closer to the TV, turning up the sound as the guys started laughing and clapping all around them.

“You call that dancing?” Livan scoffed, but even he looked a little impressed.

On the screen, Mike Lawson, retired catcher of the Padres, aimed a cheeky grin at the stunning blonde in his arms and twirled her away from him. She sparkled in a revealing sequinned costume meant to vaguely resemble the equally-sequinned baseball uniform Mike wore. That he only looked a little ridiculous was a miracle, but he sold it with that grin.

“Holy shit, he’s actually having fun,” Sonny said in disbelief. The guys had gathered hoping to watch Lawson embarrass himself on national TV, but that wasn’t what was happening.

While the Padres trained with the Cactus League out in Arizona, Mike had gone to LA to train for “Dancing with the Stars.” His cryptic text messages and occasional late night phone calls hinted at long hours of practice, but Mike had refused to give up any details, citing a non-disclosure agreement. 

Between the pre-recorded package of practice and interview footage and their actual routine, two things were obvious. First, Mike actually had some moves. He was quick on his feet and never missed a step, even if he showed almost no rhythm whatsoever. Second, Mike and his stunning, incredibly flexible partner had chemistry to burn. 

Ginny flinched when he pointed out that he was used to partnering with a woman on the field, so he already knew to shut up and follow his partner’s lead. Ginny’s face burned with anger. Follow her lead? Bullshit. He delighted in messing with her, or pulling rank and laying down the law on the mound. That she did whatever she damn well pleased only seemed to amuse him. In some ways it was better that Ginny was working with Livan now. He knew that she studied their hitters harder than he did, and deferred to her far more easily than Mike ever had.

And Mike’s new partner couldn’t take her eyes off him. She was in her late 20s, blonde and busty, sexy even without the aid of heavy makeup or slinky clothes. Ginny hated her on sight. Stacy, Tracy, whatever her name was kept petting his arm and giggling during their joint interviews. 

Ginny got up and went to get herself another beer when the woman tugged on his beard to get his attention in their post-dance interview.

 

* * *

By week two, the Padres were winding up their last Spring Training games and looking ahead to the start of the regular season. They were still not quite used to working without Mike, but the team was coming together.  

Meanwhile Mike was all over the Internet and the supermarket checkout magazines, having cozy dinners with Jessie (Omar, that traitor, corrected Ginny when she got it wrong) and posting silly pictures of them on his social media accounts. Ginny knew from Blip that documenting the competition was part of his contract, a way of selling them to the voting audience (they even had a cutesy couple name with a trending hashtag), because Mike had complained about it before the show started production. Now he seemed perfectly at ease with the whole arrangement. 

The tabloids thought Mike and Jessie were dating. Everyone on Twitter seemed to think they were at least sleeping together. Blip mentioned twice that Mike had dated a few dancers after his divorce, and Sonny scoffed and corrected him that exotic dancers didn’t count. Ginny ignored all the chatter. It was none of her business if Mike was dating that woman. He could date whoever he wanted. 

So what if she’d thought that maybe, once Lawson was retired, they might meet up for a drink and finish the conversation they’d started the night Mike was nearly traded. Instead he’d disappeared until nearly Christmas, riding his new motorcycle cross-country. She’d only known where he was from social media. The one time he’d called, she’d been out with Livan and his friends. They were too smooth for their own good, every last one of them, but they were great dancers and a lot of fun once Livan warned them to keep their hands off of her. One of them had answered the phone while she was getting drinks, and Mike hadn’t said a word, just hung up. He hadn’t answered when she called him back.

For week three, the Padres were on their way back to San Diego and the team watched Mike dance on the bus’s TV screens. Mike clearly had trouble with this dance, stumbled a few times, and by the end sported the bitter, overly-bright smile that Ginny recognized from bad games over the years. 

“That’s more like I expected,” Sonny said with a laugh, and most of the others made noises of agreement.

The judges’ comments weren’t positive, but they weren’t nearly as bad as the insults she knew were running through Mike’s head already. Despite all the pep talks he’d given his teammates over the years, Lawson couldn’t tolerate less than perfection from himself. 

The next morning, Ginny caught Blip voting for Mike on his phone. She did the same, from every phone in the Padres clubhouse. 

 

* * *

In week four, Ginny couldn’t avoid seeing Mike and his partner everywhere. They’d barely squeaked by in week three, edging out an early 90s teen sitcom actress who now hosted a cooking show. This week both Mike and Jessie had posted cutesy videos of their practice sessions and pictures of them trying on costumes. Mike hadn’t cut back on his workouts at all in retirement. In fact he looked leaner and more defined. 

Not that Ginny was looking. The Padres were opening at home against the Reds, followed by an LA road trip to trade insults with the Dodgers. Still, she was surprised to get a call from one of the show’s producers, asking her and Blip to come sit in the audience for that week’s taping. 

Ginny turned her down. Blip did not.

But on the day of filming, after a shitty start the night before that saw Ginny pulled in the fourth inning, the producer called back. “Look, Ms. Baker, there’s a fair chance Mr. Lawson will be voted off this week. Would you please come?” 

The least Mike could have done was ask her himself, which she told the producer. The woman explained that this would be a surprise, since he hadn’t asked anyone to come support him. Ginny couldn’t decide if that made it better or worse. 

When Ginny and Blip arrived at the studio, they were ushered into an office to wait until taping began, to make sure that Mike didn’t see them ahead of time. The taping wasn’t what she’d expected from the few minutes she’d watched the show. The studio was small, smaller than it looked on TV. The audience got to see the packages of practice clips that aired on TV, and the whole thing was conducted as if it were going out live unless a contestant cursed or something else went wrong. 

She knew next to nothing about the dances, but the crowd was lively, the choreography and costumes were interesting, and Blip kept up a quiet running commentary that made Ginny laugh more than once. 

Mike was one of the last dancers. His video started with a Lawson she was very familiar with—the one who beat himself up for every mistake. His partner was teaching him to waltz, but the same problem the judges complained of last week was still there. Technically, Mike had the steps down pat, but precision wasn't enough. He looked like those guys in the clubs who were supposedly dancing with their girlfriends or dates but checking out the room looking for better prospects. No connection.

“What are you thinking about?” Jessie finally asked him. 

“My feet. Counting the beat,” he answered without hesitation. 

Jessie frowned. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?” 

Jessie moved his hands into the right position, and pushed him through the first few steps until he took over leading. “The waltz is a seduction,” she said softly. “It's about potential, anticipation, chemistry. Come on, Mike. You just need some inspiration.”

Ginny had no doubt what kind of inspiration Jessie was offering, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it. The stage lights came up and there was Mike, black slacks molded to thick thighs and a tight ass, a deep green satiny shirt unbuttoned to show a hint of his broad chest. Jessie was turned away from him, a filmy white gown swirling around her dotted with sequins and crystals in shades of green. Mike was holding her hand, keeping her close to him. 

The music kicked in, Ed Sheeran’s “Thinking Out Loud.” Ginny recognized it from Melky’s wedding last winter. The bride and groom had looking nothing like this, though, swaying together in a hotel ballroom. Jessie made her precise footwork and elegant turns and spins look effortless, a smile on her face for the crowd and heat in the gaze she turned on Mike. 

He was intense, focused on her rather than playing to the crowd. Mike’s hand on the small of her back looked possessive when he drew her close. Forget counting the beat. Nothing existed but the music and the woman in his arms. 

Ginny’s breath caught and held, a deep, burning pain in her chest spreading as Mike dipped Jessie and then brought her up snug against his chest. Ginny remembered too well the gentle strength of his embrace, how protected and cherished she’d felt for the span of a few heartbeats on a sidewalk in the Gaslamp District.

“Damn, he is killing it tonight,” Blip whispered in Ginny’s ear.

She exhaled, harsh, horrified to feel tears stinging her eyes, and struggled to blink them away. They’d been warned that the cameras might cut to them, so not to do or say anything they didn’t want broadcast. She forced a smile, focused on their footwork so she wouldn’t be caught looking away. 

The last notes of the song faded away, Jessie held in Mike’s arms, their faces close. A radiant grin peeked out of Mike’s beard, the lines around his eyes crinkling, his cheeks a little less full than she remembered. Jessie winked at him and he laughed as they turned and bowed to the applauding audience. 

The lights came up and the host bounded up to talk to them. “Well, Jessie, it looks like you inspired your partner,” he quipped, and the audience laughed.

She smiled but shook her head. “That was all Mike.”

The host turned his blinding white smile on Mike and pushed the microphone toward him. “I’ve heard that baseball players are very superstitious about pregame rituals, especially during winning streaks. Do you have any rituals before you dance?”

Mike chuckled. “No, that’s not really my thing.”

“Are you sure? Maybe we should ask your old teammates. Ginny Baker and Blip Sanders took some time out from the Padres to watch you tonight.” 

And suddenly the lights brightened over Blip and Ginny, and a cameraman in the aisle turned toward them. Beyond the camera’s bulk, Ginny could see Mike’s eyes widen. He really hadn’t known they were there. She couldn’t tell if he was happy about it, either. 

Ginny would give anything to rewind this day, tell the producer no, leave Blip to cheer Mike on while he seduced his partner and the audience. In theory Ginny had always known this side of Mike existed, the one who charmed women into his bed. He’d never really needed to work very hard at that according to stories she’d heard in the clubhouse and on the road. The guys had liked to tease him for giving all that up. Mike’s final season had been a farewell tour of National League ballparks, dive bars and old friends, but not of the groupies who’d warmed his bed over the long years of his career.

Mike and Amelia had kept their relationship out of sight, and his brief reunion with Rachel had happened mostly in L.A. Ginny had never seen him flirty and charming and undeniably happy with someone else, up close and in person. It made her want to pick up a baseball bat and destroy every camera in this studio. It made her want to drink until she forgot what it was like to have that intensity focused on her. But she and Blip had a game tonight. They were missing batting practice to be here, but they were expected at Dodger Stadium in an hour.

“What do you say, Ginny? Blip? Did Mike have any special pregame rituals?” the host prompted.

Blip grinned. “He’s going to kill me for telling you this.” His voice dropped a little, like he was telling the host a secret, man to man, instead of a national audience. “He had the nameplate from his first Little League champ trophy in his locker. He always rubbed it for good luck.”

That got a short but warm laugh from the crowd, and Mike’s ears turned a little pink. Ginny had to look away. His arm casually rested around Jessie’s waist.

“Anything else? Ginny?”

She looked up at the host, momentarily forgetting the question. “Right. Pre-game rituals.” She shrugged. “I have a private changing room, so I don’t really see that stuff.” 

“How about during the game?” She got the distinct impression the host was determined to get some kind of answer from her.

“Well, he’s got an at-bat ritual. Most guys do. Taps the bat against his left hand, in the same spot every time. Taps the end against the point of home plate.” The host was still staring at her, so Ginny continued. “He hates the bubble gum in the dugout, always chews Big Red instead. He should own stock, he’s always got a couple sticks in his pocket.” She hesitated. “At least he used to.”

The host and the cameraman turned away, the light over them winking out, but Ginny could feel Blip watching her. “Well, that was weirdly specific.”

Ginny folded her arms across her chest. “You wear that godawful Grandmaster Flash t-shirt when you get in a slump, and you tap the dugout railing three times before every at-bat. Happy now?”

Blip only snorted a little. 

The rest of the show went by in a blur. The judges loved Mike, and the phone votes were strong enough to keep him around another week. Ginny followed Blip out of the audience seating, expecting to head straight for their waiting car. Instead a PA led them back to the dressing rooms, where Mike was.

He grinned as they approached. “I can’t believe you guys are here.”

“Us? Look at you,” Blip countered, clapping Mike on one sweaty shoulder.

Mike laughed. “I don’t know, I think I make the sequins work.”

Blip laughed and nudged Ginny’s shoulder. “I’m voting no, how ‘bout you, Gin?”

“You looked good,” Ginny admitted. “Happy.” That word burned her mouth. 

“I’m getting there,” Mike replied, offering her a half smile. “I’m glad you came.”

“Yeah, me too,” Ginny mumbled, pulling out her phone to check the time. “But we have to go. Game tonight.”

“Right.” Mike glanced back and forth between Ginny and Blip. “Of course.”

Ginny didn’t wait while Blip and Mike said their goodbyes, just turned her back and pushed through the dancers and crew crowding the room. Jessie was hovering nearby, waiting for him. She gave Ginny no more than a brief glance, and Ginny didn’t bother even smiling at her.

This was good. Now she knew she’d never been more than a friend and batterymate to Mike. 

 

* * *

Ginny didn’t watch week five. The guys gave her a recap anyway on the plane to Seattle. Apparently Mike in skin-tight Wranglers and cowboy boots two-stepping to an old Garth Brooks song was funnier than stand-up comedy. Ginny wanted that image out of her head for very different reasons.  

Livan took her out the night before her start, but the idea of dancing the evening away held no appeal. They went up to the top of the Space Needle instead, and Ginny avoided Livan’s pointed questions about who had her so twisted up. 

She wasn’t twisted up. She was just pissed, mostly at herself. Since she allowed only one run and notched a win the next day, pitching angry seemed to be working for her. 

 

* * *

Week six was easy to ignore. The Padres had a doubleheader at home against the Brewers, and Ginny was scheduled to pitch the nightcap. After giving up a three-run homer, she rode the bench the rest of the game, and left without talking to anyone. 

She accidentally left her phone at home the next day, so she didn’t know until warm-ups that Mike had injured his knee and left the show. Not the way he would’ve wanted to go out, but the guys insisted he had maybe a week left in him anyway. His remaining competition was too good. Ginny questioned how they knew that, at which point Omar bashfully admitted that some of the guys were really into watching the show now.

The Padres lost 5-3, Ginny frustrated all she could do was offer encouragement from the dugout. She went home determined to indulge in a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and some trashy TV. Definitely not watching Mike get hurt on national TV. 

Except when she got out of the elevator, Mike Lawson was sitting in the hall outside her door.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for not replying to the lovely comments on chapter 1 yet. They were overwhelming in the best way and I will answer them now that this monster is done.

Mike didn’t know why he missed the exit for his house, why he kept going until he reached downtown. Petco was lit up like his last birthday cake, but he didn’t stop there either. He’d never been to Ginny’s new condo, but he knew which building it was in. He left his car in her parking garage and headed to a bar around the corner. 

Inside, the game was playing on the TVs. The Padres were down 3-2 in the top of the fifth. Mike sat at the bar, earning a double take from the bartender, and drank a couple of beers while he watched. Whenever they showed the dugout, Ginny was either deep in conversation with Livan and Sonny, or standing by the stairs cheering her team on. 

She looked as tired as he felt.

Mike hadn’t stopped moving since the end of September. Within three days of his retirement party, he’d jumped on a new BMW motorcycle and headed east. He’d needed to clear his head, get some distance before he did something stupid like show up at Ginny’s door with his heart on his sleeve. What if he only wanted her because he couldn’t have her? What if he told her how he felt and she didn’t feel the same? Because she drove him crazy, and not just because he wanted to get her in bed. If they crashed and burned, he stood to lose one of his best friends. Mike didn’t make friends easily, not ones he could trust. 

Some time apart would be good for them. He’d been sure of that when he picked up Route 66, followed it through the Southwest and up into tornado country, hitting a few major league cities to talk to other retired players. There were women along the way, some who knew who he was and some who didn’t. Mike had been friendly and charming more out of habit than genuine interest. It reminded him too much of the early days of his marriage, when the groupies hadn’t believed that Mike was faithful to Rachel.

Except he wasn’t married now. He wasn’t even dating anyone. His former teammates would never believe it, but the man who’d fucked his way through most of the groupies in the National League had been celibate for more than a year. The endless parade of women with their coy smiles and wandering hands had lost its appeal.

The woman he wanted was standing under the hot stadium lights, her face glistening with sweat, her eyes narrowed as she focused on Livan’s signals. She shook him off. Mike chuckled to himself. The kid still hadn’t learned. Duarte loved her cutter; Ginny did not. A smug little smile lit her face for half a heartbeat before she nodded sharply and went into her wind-up. Mike knew the pitch before she threw it, still attuned to every nuance of her body position on the mound. Screwball, and strike three. If only he knew her mind so well.

Leaving San Diego was supposed to get Ginny out of his system. He would come back and they’d be friends again, without the inconvenient attraction that he couldn’t seem to shake. Instead, he’d only resisted the itch to call her until he reached Kansas City. And some guy answered her phone. Not Blip or Livan or anyone else he recognized. Deja vu had hit him like a sucker punch. Coming home expecting to find his wife waiting for him, and finding a Dear John letter instead. It wasn’t fair to Ginny, but he’d still felt betrayed. Mike hadn’t called her again. 

Yet here he was five months later, a block from her apartment, waiting for the game to end. Trying to talk himself out of crossing the street and going up to her condo and finding out why she’d looked at him with the same betrayal in her eyes last week. 

Mike had fucked things up with Ginny. That was nothing new. He’d fucked things up with Amelia in so many ways he was lucky she was still civil with him, but luckily she was in LA most of the time now, wisely delegating Ginny’s day-to-day handling to Evelyn, a shark in the making but the perfect person to balance Amelia’s ambition with Ginny’s need for a real life. And Rachel, well, Mike had fucked that up twice. She said she was getting married again, and this time Mike thought it would stick. He didn’t miss their marriage. He didn’t miss the man he’d been with her. He wasn’t much better now, but at least he was trying. 

Another run scored, and the new manager pulled Ginny in favor of an overrated hotshot new reliever. Mike still watched all the games he could, even if he wasn’t playing anymore. He sent Livan texts now and then, with tips and suggestions to improve his play. Sometimes the kid listened. Sometimes he didn’t. 

Tonight he didn’t, and the hotshot’s blazing fastball couldn’t pull the Padres out of the hole they were in. Ginny took the loss with a scowl. The presser wouldn’t improve her mood, Mike knew from experience. Yet he paid his bar tab and walked slowly across the street, up the block to her building. The guy at the security desk recognized him and gave him directions to Ginny’s door, where Mike leaned against the wall and waited. 

After awhile, his knees started to protest and he sat down. A few people coming down the hall gave him odd looks, but Mike didn’t particularly care. Honestly after a few minutes he wasn’t sure he could get back up without help. His right knee was just tweaked, nothing too serious, but his ortho had insisted he quit the show. They both knew he was on borrowed time with that joint, and there was no point in aggravating it further. Besides, Mike had been coasting on audience votes for two weeks, and the strain of selling the flirtation between him and Jessie was getting to him. 

She was gorgeous, friendly, funny, and a better dancer than he could ever hope to be. She pushed him harder than the Padres’ trainers, and she knew just which buttons to push. For the show, Jessie was his perfect match. 

They’d had a great time together the first few weeks, until the show began airing and she started taking every opportunity to press herself against him. Her practice outfits became skimpier and tighter. When the cameras rolled, Mike allowed it. The minute they left, Mike had done his best to keep his distance whenever possible. He couldn’t even tell if her interest was genuine or if she just wanted the notoriety of dating him, but he was definitely leaning toward the latter. 

With Jessie, Mike had actually considered calling up a groupie and having her drop him off at Jessie’s dance studio, but he couldn’t go through with it. That wouldn’t have been fair to either woman. He’d stopped caring about fairness where Jessie was concerned when she’d draped herself all over him in front of Ginny. He didn’t like a woman marking her territory with him even when he was in a relationship, much less when he wasn’t. And the look on Ginny’s face had given him hope he hadn’t felt in months, that maybe he hadn’t completely blown it with her. Maybe he still had a chance.

Frankly Jessie was probably happy to see him go. Before the cameras had shown up for their next practice, Jessie had once again started flirting with him, and instead of ignoring it like usual, he’d shot her down. From her reaction, Mike was fairly certain she’d never been rejected before. 

Mike was unfortunately all too used to that feeling. And when the elevator opened and Ginny stepped out into the hall, he braced himself to feel it again.

Ginny stopped in her tracks, clad in her postgame uniform of Nike leggings and a form-fitting athletic jacket, her hair curling around her shoulders. “What are you doing?” she asked. 

“Waiting for you.” 

“On the floor?” She shook her head in dismay, striding toward him with a familiar scowl marring her features. “Do you  _ want  _ a knee replacement?”

Mike shrugged and took the hand she offered, trying not to pull her down with him as he levered himself awkwardly off the floor. 

She kept shooting him looks as she unlocked the door and went in, leaving the door open in a weak invitation to join her. Mike followed and closed the door behind him. Ginny walked through the immaculate living room and disappeared down a hallway. “Take a load off, Lawson,” she called back.

Mike started to sit down on the patterned microfiber couch and then straightened again. The furniture was generic Pottery Barn fare, most likely picked by Evelyn as he couldn’t imagine Ginny giving a shit about coordinating throw pillows or the bowl filled with brightly colored wool balls on the coffee table. But the walls were covered with framed photos, and those were all Ginny. The team’s ESPN body issue photo, a snapshot of her with Mike and Blip at Spring Training in Peoria, Ginny with the Sanders twins at Disneyland wearing a ridiculous princess crown.

And an old family photo. Mike drifted across the room toward it to get a closer look. If he had to guess, he’d say this had been taken at JC Penney or Sears when she was roughly 13. Ginny’s face was fuller, her lips shiny with pink lipgloss, the same flat gold earrings in her ears that she still sometimes wore. Her mom stood beside her, both of them wearing the best fashions of 2007, while Will and their father were seated in front of the girls. 

Bill Baker had a shaved head, a mustache, and a reluctant smile. Mike had expected a bigger man. Bill loomed large in his daughter’s memories. 

He felt her presence before he heard Ginny behind him. “He looks hard to please,” Mike observed.

“He was. Every time I wanted to celebrate something, Pop would say, ‘We ain’t done nothing yet.’” Her voice was lower than usual, hoarse from cheering on her teammates. “You want to tell me what you’re doing here? I thought you’d stay in L.A. for awhile.” 

Mike risked a glance back at her. She’d taken off her jacket, revealing the purple tank underneath, but she couldn’t look more guarded if she were wearing his old catcher’s gear, mask and all. “Why would I do that?”

Ginny stalked over to her kitchen and started rummaging around in her fridge. “You and Jessie seemed pretty cozy.”

“I wasn’t with her, Baker.” All those hours watching the game, watching her, he should have been planning what to say. Now, with Ginny so close, his mind was a little scrambled.

Ginny emerged from the fridge holding two bottles of beer. “Did she know that?”

Mike took one of the bottles from her and finally sat on the couch. “Yeah, I told her there was someone else.” 

Ginny planted herself in a chair as far from him as she could get. “Anyone I know?” The forced lightness in her voice didn’t hide the barb in her words.

Mike deserved that after Amelia. He set his beer on her coffee table untouched and leaned toward her. “Is this how you want to play this? Dancing around what you really want to say?”

“You made the call, Lawson. You left, not me.” Her anger he could deal with, the jutting chin and flashing eyes familiar to him from a hundred minor disagreements they’d patched up with no more than a smile, a nod, a clap on the back, or a murmured, “We good?” But Ginny, sitting stiff as a poker and clutching her beer like she might want the bottle for a weapon later, was hurt, too, and he’d never been very good at soothing others’ hurts.

“I know. I’m sorry.” That had to be worth something, right?

“Really?” One dark eyebrow raised. She looked thunderous. Not exactly the reaction he’d hoped for. “For what?”

Okay, so Ginny wasn’t going to let him off easy. Fine, he’d spent the last two years of his marriage apologizing. He could do it tonight too. “For everything.”

“Does that work on other people?” She snorted and shot to her feet, stalking into the kitchen to dump the rest of her beer and toss the bottle in her recycle bin. “Go home, Lawson. You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for.”

Mike’s track record with women might suck, but he knew how to read signals. Ginny hadn’t called him ‘Mike’ once tonight, and she hadn’t gotten near him since she helped him up off the floor. The ease and familiarity between them, something he missed desperately, was completely absent. He’d been gone too long. “Baker, come on, can’t we at least talk?” 

“Nothing to say.” She walked past him, her steps heavy, toward the hall. “Let yourself out, okay?” 

“I’m not sorry I left, Gin. I’m only sorry I didn’t talk to you first.” He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t plead. He let the words speak for themselves, though he couldn’t help how he said her name, soft and intimate. 

Ginny stopped, but she didn’t turn toward him. 

Mike pressed on anyway. “I saw you every day. I couldn’t figure out what to do next, who I wanted to be, when all I wanted to do was be with you. You’re the most beautiful woman in any room. You have to know that.” 

She shook her head a little, like she still didn’t believe that, even with the file Evelyn kept of all the men’s magazines that routinely begged Ginny to pose for them. But she kept silent, and she didn’t walk away.

“But you’re also my friend, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t have a lot of those. Not real ones. And I already fucked things up with you once. I didn’t want to lose you, Ginny.” He knew he wasn’t playing fair, using her name again, but Mike wasn’t above stacking the deck in his favor. 

She ran a hand through her hair. A nervous habit. “So you threw me away instead. I got it.” She took a step toward the hallway. 

He was losing her. Mike shot to his feet, ignoring the sharp pull in his right knee. “I didn’t mean to. I thought you’d moved on.” Hell, in his darkest moments he’d wondered if he’d imagined the heat simmering between them.

That made her turn around, hands on her hips and her brow furrowed. “Are you kidding me? You were the one wrapped around another woman.”

He found himself moving toward her without thinking about it. “That was work. When a guy answered your phone late at night, what was I supposed to think?”

“You were supposed to ask me,” she shot back. 

“Fine, who the hell answered your phone?” Just talking about this stirred up every chauvinistic, jealous impulse Mike had. Rachel used to tell him that his inner caveman was showing, and it wasn’t attractive. Ginny didn’t seem to like it any better.

“Livan’s friend Javy. Who I did not date or take to bed, not like I owe you a damn explanation.” Her hand raked her curls again, and her voice softened. “He answers everyone’s phones. Thinks it’s hilarious.”

Mike wanted to touch those curls, and the vulnerable curve of her throat, and her slightly chapped lips. She licked her lips sometimes during games when she was nervous. Mike had kept Chapstick with his gear in the dugout, but he wasn’t there anymore.

“I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions.” He risked a small step forward, putting himself almost in touching distance. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you back. I’m sorry I stayed away so long. I went to see my mom, and Al.” 

Ginny looked at him in surprise. “Your mom?” 

Mike nodded. “Yeah, she lives in Napa. I hadn’t seen her in awhile.” He’d spent Thanksgiving with Jackie Lawson for the first time in a decade. Her short-term con skills served her well upselling tourists to expensive wine-tasting excursions, and corporate retreats provided her with a steady supply of lonely men eager to entertain her for a few days. Mike had long ago given up on changing his mother. 

“Al looked better,” Mike continued. The heart attack that had forced Al’s retirement mid-season had left its mark on him, even though it spared his life. He was slower, and the weight his doctors mandated he lose gave the impression that his skin was slowly melting. He looked old, settled into his retirement in Sausalito near one of his daughters. “He fishes a lot. Pretends he doesn't mind leaving the game.” Mike sighed. “You really want to talk about Al?”

Ginny shook her head. “No.” 

That admission was enough to make Mike take the last step, reach out and brush a loose curl away from her cheek. “Am I too late, Gin?” 

Ginny leaned into his touch, and something inside Mike loosened. “Are you going to run away again?” she countered with a touch of reprimand.

Mike smiled. “No. I missed San Diego, and the guys.”

She huffed a little. “Is that all?” 

He considered toying with her longer, but he’d been waiting too long for this moment. “I missed you.”

Ginny threaded her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his shoulder. “I missed you, too.”

“Even the beard?” Mike smiled against the crown of her head, inhaling the familiar, clean scent of her shampoo. Then he let himself wrap his arms around her. That was.... fuck, that was better than Mike remembered. Ginny was warm and pliant against him, but not passive. She held him just as much as he held her. 

He felt more than heard her derisive little snort. “Let it go, Lawson.”

Mike bent his head until his lips brushed her ear, the beard tickling her cheek. “Give me ten minutes. I could make you love the beard,” he purred, and immediately wished he could cram those words back into his mouth. He’d used that line on women in bars more times than he cared to remember, and nearly all of those women were only pretending reluctance.  

Ginny stiffened in his arms. She was beautiful, famous, and unique. She’d probably heard every pickup line on the planet. “Does that line ever work?” she scoffed, but he thought he heard hurt in her voice.

“More than you’d think, but I’m out of practice. You really should be shoving your panties in my pocket by now.” In his head, that was a joke, doubling down on the smarm because he didn’t mean it. Out loud, it just made him sound like an asshole, like every other guy hitting on her everywhere she went.

“Please. I’m immune to cheesy pickup lines.” So stubborn, his rookie. He’d seen her turn down enough guys that he might have believed her this time if she didn’t sound so breathless.

“That sounds like a challenge.” It wasn’t so much of a tease as a promise. Ginny was by no means the first skeptic when it came to women and his beard, and Mike was nothing if not competitive. 

She laughed as his lips drifted down her jaw, his beard brushing lightly against her throat. Not quite kissing her, just touching his mouth to her skin. Her short, blunt nails grazed the nape of his neck to get his attention, as if he could think of anything else but the woman in his arms. “Clock’s ticking, Lawson.”

Mike might not have always known what she was thinking, but he’d heard that tone on the mound too many times to misinterpret it now. Put up or shut up, old man. He sent one hand up her spine and cupped the nape of her neck, and a year and a half after that night at Boardner’s, Mike kissed Ginny. 

The kiss stayed soft and undemanding for about three seconds, the kind of kiss they might have had on that sidewalk, and then Ginny opened her mouth. She tasted like beer and bubblegum, and she kissed like she’d thought of nothing else since that night. 

Mike pulled away just enough to ask, “You really only gonna give me ten minutes?” He nuzzled under her jaw, feeling her choppy breathing against his forehead and her breasts pressed against his chest. 

“You need time to go pop a pill or something, old man?” Ginny grumbled, her hand stopping its exploration of his bicep. 

Mike’s head snapped up, almost knocking into her jaw. Was she serious? His knees might be falling apart, but his dick had never needed any help getting the job done. 

But Ginny was grinning, her eyes dark and a little hazy but clearly teasing, and the dimple in her cheek looked absolutely edible. Honestly, he’d been wanting to kiss it, touch the tip of his tongue to it, for longer than he would ever admit. “You should see your face,” she said with a short bark of laughter. Not delicate, not flirty, but honest laughter.

Mike couldn’t help but return her grin. “You are so going to pay for that,” he promised, his voice huskier than he’d expected. 

“Yeah?” She bit her lower lip, waiting to see what he had in mind.

Fuck his knees. Mike’s hands dropped to her firm, lycra-covered ass and hauled her into his arms. 

Ginny yelped and clutched his shoulders. “Mike, your knees,” she protested. 

Mike started down the hallway, hoping she hadn’t left any tripping hazards on the floor. Dumping them both on the carpet wasn’t really part of his plan. “Stop wiggling and it won’t be a problem,” he shot back. Her legs were wrapped around him, rubbing her directly against his hardening cock. 

His knees were fine, but a sharp pain lanced through his lower back when he tried to gracefully lower her onto the bed. Mike ignored it because Ginny had started grinding up against his dick while she kissed the base of his throat. 

Mike’s hand shot out to clutch her hip and hold her still. “Gin, slow down,” he ground out, reaching back to disentangle himself from her legs. He needed to stand up for a second. 

“Why?” she asked, sitting up and starting to undo his shirt buttons.  

Why? Right. Why, when she looking up at him with kiss-swollen lips he’d had some seriously dirty fantasies about, her fingers nimbly undressing him? Because she wasn’t really looking at him, for starters. Mike grabbed her wrists and held them gently. “Because I’m not going anywhere.” 

She did look up at him then, the heat in her eyes mixed with a vulnerability she tried desperately to hide, and Mike was far too aware that he didn’t deserve the second chance she was giving him. “It’s just,” she said, biting her lip again, her voice falling to a whisper. “It’s been awhile, for me.” 

He was relieved by that, and then annoyed with himself for caring about it. What she’d done, who she’d been with, he didn’t exactly have the moral high ground there. “Me too,” he admitted. 

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Really?” 

He took a deep breath and released her wrists. “Last season, when I left with those women?” She nodded, her jaw tightening. “I walked them to their cars, Baker, and left alone. The guys were giving me shit, so I just let them think what they wanted.” 

That little line appeared between her eyebrows, like she was considering what he was saying, and then she started working on his buttons again. She glanced back up as she finished the last button and Mike shrugged out of his shirt. “Maybe you can have more than ten minutes,” she conceded. 

Mike didn’t push his luck. He leaned down and pulled her tank top over her head, exposing a plain black sports bra. The clothes she wore to the stadium did her figure no favors, but Mike understood why. He’d seen how their teammates treated her at first, and every new guy openly checked her out. She got comments from opposing players all the time, the only way they seemed to know how to trash talk with her. 

He didn’t care that this bra smashed her breasts down. He’d seen her dressed to the nines, damn near swallowed his tongue every time, but this was simple, functional, very much Ginny. It showed off her shoulders, her lean, muscular arms, her firm, flat belly. And it really needed to come off, but damned if Mike had ever taken off a sports bra before. He felt around her back and must have looked puzzled when he didn’t find any clasps, because she chuckled. “Let me do that,” she said, pushing away his hands. 

The bra came off over her head, not the most graceful thing he’d ever seen, but considering it gave him his first in-person look at her breasts, he wasn’t complaining. (He’d seen the leaked pictures. Some asshole had shoved his phone in Mike’s face in a bar one night and the image was still burned into Mike’s brain.)

That vulnerable look was back in her eyes, and Mike made himself stop staring. “Better,” he murmured, and gently pushed her back to the bed, crawling up over her and pressing his lips to hers again. His jeans were uncomfortably tight, but they needed to stay on awhile longer. He had work to do, and his dick wasn’t part of the plan just yet.

The plan called for long, deep kisses that left Ginny writhing beneath him, and Mike so dizzy he could hardly think. And when he had to come up for air, he moved slowly down her body, kissing her collarbones and dipping his tongue into the hollow at the base of her throat. He teased her breasts with his beard and his tongue while his hand played with the other breast. He learned that just under her breasts was ticklish as hell when his beard skimmed across her skin and Ginny’s soft moans turned to giggles. She twisted away, her knee knocking into his ribs, and Mike took the opportunity to grab her by the hips and hold her still.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” she asked, her already naturally husky voice gone deeper, raw with need. Ginny playfully pushed against his hold, but didn’t seem to expect him to relent. All she had to do was ask, and he’d let her go. 

Mike’s eyes deliberately roamed over all the bare skin on display: hard nipples still damp from his mouth, flushed skin lightly abraded by his beard (her moans of approval proving that Ginny didn’t hate the beard nearly as much as she said she did), wild curls splayed across her pillow, dark eyes and an almost shy smile on her gorgeous face. Her hands covered his wrists, roamed up his forearms, moved to graze her short nails over his belly. 

“Not even close,” he answered, and then bent to continue worshiping every inch of her. Her belly wasn’t ticklish, just so sensitive she was panting and pulling at his hair, whispering his name like a prayer by the time Mike hooked his fingers in the waistband of her leggings and pulled both leggings and panties down in one movement. 

Over the years, Mike had become cynical about the women he took to bed. Even Rachel seemed to be performing at times, not fully in the moment. He’d come to expect that from groupies trying desperately to impress him with their eagerness to do any and every filthy thing he could think of, but not from his wife. Ginny was nothing like that. Playful but not coy, with none of the empty flattery he’d tuned out over the years. He couldn’t ever remember laughing so much in bed, nor feeling so comfortable with a new partner. 

Ginny closed her eyes suddenly, her thighs trembling as he settled between her legs, his shoulders keeping her thighs spread. 

“You okay?” he asked, stroking the soft skin of her inner thighs with fingers still a little rough from years playing ball. 

She shivered, nodded, biting her lip. “Yeah. Just, you know, naked here.”

Mike chuckled. “That is kind of necessary for what I have in mind.”

Ginny opened her eyes and sighed, her hand drifting down to squeeze his hand over her hip. “It’s a good thing you’re retired. I don’t know how the hell I’d face you on the mound tomorrow.”

“On the mound, huh?” Mike dropped a kiss on hers, and she glanced down at him. 

Her gaze stuck on his, her cheeks flushed and eyes widening. Must’ve been a hell of a picture from her perspective, the way her breathing got choppy, her musky scent growing heavy in the air around them. Mike loved the way his hand looked spread across her hip, his thick, tanned fingers against her warm brown skin, the fine sheen of sweat across her chest making her skin nearly glow. 

Mike couldn’t quite hold her gaze as he turned his head and slowly ran his tongue up her inner thigh, his beard tickling and teasing the sensitive skin. 

“Mike,” she gasped, her legs falling open further to give him better access.

“Yes?” He repeated the move on her other leg, adding a nip at the crease of her hip for good measure.

Her hips rolled up as far as they could in blatant invitation, and Mike cradled her ass in his hands, his thumbs holding her thighs spread wide. He moved back to her inner thigh, nipping and sucking a particular spot that made her keen in pleasure and obvious frustration. 

Mike smirked. He couldn’t help it. “Did you want something, Baker?”

Ginny levered herself up on one elbow, glaring down at him, but her wild-eyed gaze just made him more eager to tease the hell out of her. “I’m not going to beg,” she said as evenly as she could, not very since she couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

Mike raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?” He nuzzled the juncture between hip and pussy, let his beard rasp against her skin after he’d licked it. He could take her apart in under a minute without even using his hands, but right now, he was just enjoying how she shuddered and bucked against his hold every time his beard dragged over her wet pussy. He was about ten seconds away from devouring her, but she didn’t need to know that. 

Mike licked one long swipe up her center and Ginny’s back bowed, a string of curses erupting from her mouth. He grabbed a pillow and shoved it under her ass, his feet on the floor and his cock getting a little friction from the edge of the bed. At least this way his back would stop complaining. He licked her again. “You taste so damn good, I could do this all night.” He wasn't lying, but if he went on this way much longer he was going to come in his pants.

Ginny growled in frustration, her hips working against his hands, struggling to get closer to his face. These long, slow licks weren’t going to get her off, and she knew it. “Fuck me,” she whined. “Damn it, Mike, just fuck me.” 

Mike grinned, but he shook his head. He licked her again, gave her more pressure, more speed, a few firm strokes across her clit that had her clawing the sheets and moaning. And then he let one hand drift up to her breasts, the other playing in her slick folds. He pinched one hard nipple, two of his fingers slid inside her, and he captured her clit between his lips, sucking hard. 

No more than five swift, hard thrusts of his fingers, and Ginny wailed out her release, her entire body shuddering, her pussy clamping down on his fingers. She slowly relaxed, breathing like she’d been doing wind sprints, and Mike pulled his fingers out of her, licking her gently one more time. She shuddered again, cursing softly. 

Mike got up on his knees on the bed, not quite sure if he should take his pants off or just lie down and hold her. Besides, he wanted to soak in this view, Ginny sated and trembling, flushed and undone. He could taste her in his mouth, wiped some of her slickness from his beard. “You okay?” he asked.

Her eyes fluttered open. “Yeah, ‘m good,” she croaked. 

Mike chuckled and reached over to her nightstand for a bottle of water. “C’mon, have a sip.”

Ginny took the bottle and turned a little onto her side to drink it. She handed it back and flopped onto her back again. She sighed, looking up at him. “Alright, fine, the beard isn’t awful.”

Mike allowed himself a smug grin and ignored the way his knee popped when he stood. “I’ll call that a win.”

Ginny stretched languorously and looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. “Doesn't look like you won.” Her foot stretched out and lightly rubbed against the bulge in his jeans. “Take these off.”

Mike sure as hell wasn’t going to disobey that order. He unzipped his jeans and pushed them down his hips. After a moment’s hesitation, with her gaze firmly on the erection straining against his boxer-briefs, Mike dropped those as well. Kicking them all off took a moment, his knee buckling for a second when he put his full weight on it. When his eyes went back to hers, she was up on her elbows watching him. 

Mike wished he’d kept up his workouts better on the road. She was tight and toned and gorgeous clothed or nude, though he’d heard her bitching with the guys about how much harder it was for a woman to get six-pack abs, while Mike had been battling a softening middle the last few years. 

A rueful smile made her dimples pop out. Ginny pushed up onto her knees on the bed right in front of him. Her hands roamed over his chest, down his belly, her pitching hand circling his cock and stroking it slowly. “Are you sucking in your stomach?” 

“No,” Mike immediately protested. Her hand stilled, and he grumbled, “Maybe a little.”

Ginny leaned forward, one hand settling on his hip, her thumb idly rubbing the slight dip where his abs met his hip muscles. Her lips grazed his chest, her curly hair trailing over his skin. Her hand resumed its leisurely pace on his cock, the callouses on her fingers driving him crazy. She looked up at him and said dryly, “I’m not going to stroke your ego, too, Lawson. You know I want you.” 

She released his dick, both hands sweeping slowly up his belly, over his pecs and up to cup his shoulders and skim her nails down his biceps. Mike shivered as she leaned in and kissed him, slow and deep, her body pressed tight against his, smooth hot skin rubbing against him and driving him crazy. 

Ignoring his protesting back, Mike wrapped one arm around her and slowly lowered them both to the bed, his larger body covering hers. 

“Yes,” Ginny sighed, pulling him closer. 

Mike didn’t want to crush her, but she seemed to like it. Her lips and hands roamed his body while Mike kissed and nipped and licked all the places he’d been fantasizing about. The clean, salty taste of her skin was addictive, the sound of her husky encouragements and praise only making him want more.

When his cock slid through her wetness, bumping against her clit, Ginny moaned and grabbed him by the ass to line them up better.

Mike wanted nothing more than to sink into her, but he managed to ask, “Condoms?”

Her hazy gaze cleared and she licked her lips. “Don’t you have any?” 

Mike shifted his hips away from her and wrapped a tight fist around the base of his cock. After all this time, he was not about to shoot off the second he got inside Ginny. “Pretty sure the one in my wallet’s been there since Obama was president.” 

Ginny rolled her eyes and flipped onto her belly, stretching out across the bed to open a drawer in her nightstand. The view she was giving him did nothing to cool Mike down: her long, smooth back, her perfect ass. Over her shoulder, he could see her rummaging through the drawer: paperback books, batteries, a bag of cough drops, a small bottle he suspected was lube, and a vibrator. A big, neon orange vibrator. Okay then. “Ah ha,” she said triumphantly, tossing a box of condoms back at him.

Mike hadn’t been out of the game that long, his reflexes were still good enough to catch the box before it hit the bed. The box was a little crushed, like it’d been in there awhile, but still sealed. He had no right to care about that, but he’d wanted her for so long, he’d like to think she wanted him, too.

Ginny rolled back over and watched him open the box and put on a condom. “Have you ever done it without a condom?” she asked, voice still husky and her eyes unabashedly on his erection. 

“A few times.” He’d been asked more times than he could count, by groupies who insisted they were on the pill and clean. Mike had always refused. If they didn’t accept that, he left. But early in his marriage he and Rachel had gone bare every so often, before the other wives started filling her head with stories about infidelity on the road.

Eager to end this conversation, Mike prowled over Ginny, licking a stripe up her belly and taking one nipple in his mouth as he settled his body over hers again.

“What does it feel like?” she asked, a hitch in her voice.

Mike raked his teeth over her nipple, gently but enough to get her attention. “Wet. Hot. A little messy after.” And intimate. Something he’d forgotten sex could be for awhile. 

Ginny’s back arched, pressing her breast up into his mouth. He suckled her lightly as she squirmed under him, her breath coming in uneven little pants.

“You ready?” he asked, nuzzling between her breasts. One last chance to change her mind. 

Ginny’s fingers ran through his hair, gentle, affectionate. “Been ready,” she grumbled, and he chuckled and kissed her breastbone.

Dragging his body up along hers, finding her mouth with his, aligning his inconveniently eager cock (the condom was helping with that, at least) with her pussy, all he could think was that they could never walk this back. Mike was well aware that they hadn’t talked about a future between them, that nothing beyond this night was guaranteed. 

The first moment of penetration nearly undid him. Ginny was hot and tight and slick, everything she should be, but her eyes were wide and trusting, her hands clutching his back. She gasped and panted just from the tip of him inside her. 

He watched, rocking slowly into her, while she took him in. Her restless hands cupped his ass, stroked his arms and the nape of his neck, and her soft, husky voice babbled how good he felt, how long she’d wanted this (longer than he’d expected), and once, her voice cracking, how much she’d missed him. 

And Ginny felt amazing, matching his rhythm so quickly it felt like their communication on the field, easy and unspoken. He peppered kisses all over her face and neck, breathed in the scent of her hair, told her how good she felt, how he’d thought of no one else in more than a year. 

The waiting, the tension, even the game faded away. Everything he wanted was right here, her legs wrapped around his thighs and her body sliding slick against him inside and out. He shouldn’t have worried about coming too soon, his knee started to complain after only a few minutes of deep, leisurely thrusts.

“Let me be on top,” she whispered in his ear before he could even ask. 

He might have protested, but the thought of Ginny riding him was enough to soothe his wounded pride. He held her while he rolled them over, his throbbing knee forgotten as Ginny rose above him, arranging her gloriously naked body over his and slowly sliding back down onto his cock. 

Mike groaned loudly, and a devilish smile lit her face, that sweet dimple popping out. “You like that?” she teased, and rose up and dropped back down again, slowly, so slowly. 

He ran his hands up her thighs, feeling her powerful muscles flex and tighten under his hands. He’d never expected that that would be such a turn-on, but it was. Her abs moved visibly under the soft skin of her stomach, and under his hands as he continued to explore her. Ginny’s strength was erotic as hell, her hips rolling, grinding herself against him in pursuit of her pleasure. “You, right now, are the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he said honestly, surprised by how hoarse his voice was. He didn’t think he’d been making much noise when he wasn’t talking, but maybe he had been.

She smiled again, and sped up her movements, circling her hips as she looked down at him. “Touch me.” An order even when she couldn’t get out the words without making a sharp little whine as he shifted his hips and changed the angle slightly. 

Mike was eager to comply, pressing the pad of his thumb against her where she thrust and ground against him. “Not going to last much longer,” he warned her. Next time, he would have more stamina, if there was a next time. 

Ginny looked down at him and winked, grinding against his now slick thumb. “Me neither.” She pulled back her curls with one hand, her other hand coming down to brace herself against his chest, and she started to move faster, more urgently, her moans turning into a high keening, the only words he could distinguish were “right there” and both of his names. She looked lost, out of control, and her eyes never left his.

It was the sweetest torture, every cell in his body desperate to let go but also never wanting this to end. She was beautiful, but that word wasn’t enough. They fit together like he’d been waiting his whole life for her. Even Mike knew it was the orgasm he couldn’t hold off any longer making him think these things, but they didn’t feel wrong, either. 

And then Ginny’s back arched, she clamped down on him and her whole body shuddered as she cried out. And Mike was gone. His vision whited out, he was clutching her thigh too hard, he was vaguely aware of that when he could breathe again. 

Ginny was draped over his chest, her hair tickling his nose, aftershocks still rippling through her. Mike could feel them under his hand on her back, and inside her where he was still semi-hard. 

They lay together in silence for awhile, Mike wasn't sure how long, until he started to slip out of her and had to nudge her limp body off his chest. He disposed of the condom quickly, grateful for the wastebasket by her bed, and pulled Ginny back onto his chest.

She didn't fight him, tucking his head against his shoulder. Her warm breath tickled against his throat, her soft, loose-limbed body pressed him gently into the mattress. 

Mike never wanted to leave this bed, but the ballplayer in him couldn’t stop the clock or pretend that Ginny’s life wasn’t heavily scheduled right now. “Tomorrow’s a day game?” he asked, running one hand lazily up and down her spine. 

“Yeah, I’m meeting Ev for breakfast first. She wants me to do some makeup commercials,” she said softly, her muscles tensing under his hands.

Mike couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped him. “Do they know you almost never wear makeup?”

He felt her relax. “That’s what I said.”

Mike brushed her hair away from her face, brushed a kiss against her forehead. “Easy money. You’re already gorgeous.” 

“You know you don’t have to flatter me, right? You already got in my pants.” 

Mike heard both the dry humor and the uncertainty in her voice. She was already bracing herself for a brush-off. “And I’d like to get into them again, except you’re not wearing any.” His hand on her back stretched further, cupping her ass and hauling her up so he could kiss her again. A deep, wet, filthy kiss that made him wish they had time for another round tonight. When he let her go, he sighed. “It’s late.”

Ginny scooted off him and over to the edge of the bed. “Right. You probably have stuff to do tomorrow, too.” She rose to her feet, not reaching for a shirt, not coyly wrapping a sheet around herself. He’d seen, touched, and tasted everything she was showing him right now anyway, but this felt more like a power move.

Mike levered himself up on one elbow. The sheets were bunched at his feet, and he was just as exposed as she was. His renewed interest in her was obvious. Mike had been playing ball too long to feel much modesty anymore. “Gin, I’m retired and I just lost that dancing gig. I don’t have a damn thing going tomorrow. I’ll leave if you want me to, but I’d much rather stay.”

She worried at her lip with her teeth, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. 

“We’ll sleep, Baker,” he promised. “Can’t promise to keep my hands off you, though.”

That seemed to do the trick. She gave him that slight nod that took him straight back to the clubhouse, to the field, to the days when he knew without looking if she was in the room and where she was. She walked around the bed and went into the bathroom, tossing a quiet, “Stay,” over her shoulder. 

Mike dozed until she came back, then pulled Ginny back into his arms. He waited until her breathing slowed and he was sure she was asleep, before he murmured the truth in her ear, that he loved her and had for a long time. Maybe tomorrow he would tell her again. 


End file.
